She was art
Yet no one told her so
She covered her body in other people's art
She didn't think anyone would see past the ink
She liked it better that way
She was art

He was an artist
Yet no one told him so
He covered others' bodies with his art
He didn't think anyone would see past the needle
He liked it better that way
He was an artist

One day, the art met the artist
He called her his masterpiece
He covered her in ink
But he would never touch his face
Artists know when not to touch art that is beyond their own talents

She never believed she was art
Only a blank canvas
But as she lay fully exposed to him, she finally knew all his words were true

He never believed he was an artist
Only a man with a needle and ink
But as he watched her lay exposed and vulnerable for him, he finally knew all her words were true

She never believed that she was a piece of art
That was okay
She was just waiting for someone to make her believe she was a masterpiece
His masterpiece

He never believed that he was an artist
That was okay
He was just waiting for his perfect muse
His perfect canvas

And in his bed, entwined together
The art fell in love with the artist
The artist fell in love with the art

His soft touch was a paint brush
Each stroke painting her with more love
Her openness was a canvas to him
Each time, a new and exciting moment for him

She wore his art as a badge of honor
He wore her on his arm as a mark of freedom

The art and the artist had become one
And no one could separate them

The art and the artist